


like we used to

by plumtrees



Series: UshiShira Week 2017 [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Broken Promises, Established Relationship, Fights, Future Fic, Living Together, M/M, Relationship Problems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-22 09:02:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9599033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plumtrees/pseuds/plumtrees
Summary: Chapter 1 - Day 2 for UshiShira Week: Promises+HurtChapter 2 - Day 6 for UshiShira Week: “Remember when…”+Absence-Shirabu recalled how potent the disappointment used to be, as bitter and as sharp as his first shot of alcohol, but now it barely even burned, like it wasn’t even there at all.And maybe, that was the saddest part.





	1. no sunshine

Winter had always been unpleasant in Miyagi; far too cold and far too much snow, piling up around the city like a suffocating blanket. The winds blow like the whisper of claws over exposed skin, taunting and terrifying, sinking deeper with the slow dip of mercury in the column. Everywhere people walked like ghosts, somber spirits wrapped in too many layers to be recognizable, head down and shoulders hunched, searching for respite.

But for all the winters Shirabu spent in Miyagi, he could never quite recall it ever being this cold.

He guessed he knew what he was getting into, dating a man like Ushijima Wakatoshi. It was all the reasons he fell in love with him in the first place (and perhaps a whole slew of personal issues and psychological shit can be inferred with the knowledge that he’s apparently attracted to men who don’t even seem the slightest bit interested him. Or love in general, but that was a whole ‘nother story).

But despite all those years spent stewing in self-doubt and futile wishes that his feelings would eventually blow over like they always did, everything had culminated in Ushijima’s high school graduation, a love confession under the rain of sakura petals like the climactic end of some drama Shirabu’s sure he’d seen before.

And, against all the signs and predictions and odds, Ushijima had reached out with both hands to cradle the heart he’d held out to him, and said _I’m glad_.

What followed had been Shirabu’s first kiss, and it was confusing and it was scary but it was the most beautiful thing to ever happen to him. The first press of Ushijima’s lips was like the sudden drop of a roller coaster, his stomach flopping somewhere too high up in his abdomen, his heart beating a thousand kilometers per hour, only this time there was no belt, no harness to keep him grounded, just Ushijima’s hands on his waist and the warmth of his body against his.

It had always been one of his most treasured memories, and whenever things got too hard he’d look back at it, but now not even the memory was enough to reignite the spark in his chest, to send the butterflies in his stomach fluttering. They remained still as death, still as the night outside the window.

He checked the clock one more time. Checked his watch and phone for good measure. 9:33PM, they said. And according to the latter, he didn’t have any new messages either. That didn’t matter. Even if there were, he highly doubted they would help improve his mood, or his evening.

Shirabu recalled how potent the disappointment used to be, as bitter and as sharp as his first shot of alcohol, but now it barely even burned, like it wasn’t even there at all.

And maybe, that was the saddest part.

Two plates of hayashi rice sat mottled with oil hardened over, unappetizing and neglected. Shirabu picked at his serving, then decided he wasn’t really all that hungry.

The sound of the door opening came when he’d just finished wiping down the last of the pots, putting it away in the cabinets beneath the kitchen counter. _I’m home_ echoed from the entrance, low and heavy with guilt.

“Welcome home.” he responded. Cold. Mechanical. Ushijima was bound to pick up on it but fuck it. He didn’t really feel like putting in the effort to fake being okay, even though it never really did take much to fool Ushijima in the first place.

Ushijima slid into view just as he was hanging up the towel. There was a bouquet of stargazer lilies and a paper bag in his hands. He looked all sorts of lost and remorseful and ashamed and usually that would’ve been enough to melt the layer of ice Shirabu had built up, but not today. Not tonight.

“I’m going to bed. It’s been a long day.” He said. That wasn’t a lie, at least. “I already put everything away, but feel free to reheat whatever you want, if you’re still hungry.”

He waited, hoping that maybe Ushijima would say something. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, what he wanted, but Ushijima’s forlorn whisper of _Happy anniversary_ wasn’t it.

Shirabu side-stepped the gifts that were held out to him, walked around the dining table to avoid running into Ushijima completely. 

“Goodnight.” He said, surprised at the stability of his own voice. He kept his head low, wrapped arms around himself as he stalked through the halls, hissed at the iciness of the doorknob in his hand, closed the door behind him and slid down onto the bed, burying his face in his hands and trying to breathe.

The bed seemed colder as the rest of the house, and no matter how tired Shirabu felt, he didn’t get a wink of sleep.


	2. don't you give up

Ushijima wasn’t there when he opened the door, come sunrise, but the flowers and the paper bag were still on the table. Waiting. Silent, vigilant apologies. Ushijima had unwrapped the lilies and placed them in a vase. The pink, trumpet-like blossoms so vivid against the dreary backdrop of a lonely house. Nothing more than curiosity drew him to the paper bag, peeling back the onion paper to reveal the gold SEIKO printed over a blue box.

Shirabu sighed, weakly pushing the bag aside. The couch was sunken a bit, cushions hastily rearranged. He wondered if Ushijima hadn’t gotten any sleep either.

He was used to Ushijima’s absence, used to sleeping and waking up alone on a bed made for two, used to living in an apartment that sometimes felt far too empty, used to saying _I’m home_ only to have nothing but his own voice echo back to him.

He was used to it.

Besides, what could he do? It wasn’t like he could ask Ushijima not to go to that training camp, or not practice, or not work so hard that he came home with only enough energy to crawl into bed. He knew why Ushijima worked so hard. He knew why Ushijima was often away. He knew that volleyball was and always will be Ushijima’s first love and he supported that wholeheartedly, but in a lot of ways he was still human: still imperfect and needy and hungry for all the things that came with being in a relationship; from anniversaries to lazy mornings just spent slowly waking up and admiring the light as it cast over Ushijima’s face.

Maybe it was consolation then, that even Ushijima knew how much this was affecting him. Ushijima had never been a gift-giver, but recently Shirabu had been receiving luxurious gifts and rare flowers, as if the luster of gold in velvet boxes and the bright blooms in crystal vases could help cover up the void that Ushijima used to occupy.

He checked his cellphone, accidentally left behind on the dinner table. Ushijima had cooked breakfast too, sausages and tamagoyaki still steaming under a food cover. The containers Shirabu had used to store Ushijima’s share of dinner were already drying on the rack, freshly-washed by the looks of it. The message alert on his phone said that a mere thirty minutes ago Ushijima had left _to get groceries_.

That was fair. Saturdays were the days they usually went out to fetch groceries, usually ate lunch out after, used the time to talk about the previous week. In some aspects, Shirabu is grateful Ushijima didn’t ask him to come along, now more self-aware about when Shirabu wanted to be alone, when to give him space and when to not ask.

Well, at least that was one thing about their relationship that had improved over the years.

He steadied himself on the table as he took a step, wincing at the heaviness beneath his eyes, the throbbing at the back of his skull. He felt nauseous. Maybe he should just go back to bed, try to get some sleep.

The snow had worsened sometime in the night, if the stark whiteness outside the kitchen window was to be believed. Despite everything, he hoped Ushijima wrapped up enough.

He crawled back to bed, hoping that this time at least the fatigue would be enough to knock him right out. Being awake meant thinking, and he was way too fed up with that shit right now.

He closed his eyes.

 

-

 

Shirabu wasn’t entirely sure what time it was when he finally woke, but the room was considerably warmer now. His undereyes still throbbed and he winced at the thought of eyebags on Monday. Well, not like his co-workers were ever concerned enough to ask.

He didn’t realize it until he backed up slightly and met a warm, solid back rather than cold, empty space. He froze, all the air suddenly rushing into his lungs, limbs locking. He couldn’t even flinch away from the contact. Behind him, Ushijima didn’t move away either, but his breathing suggested he was very much awake, and most likely Shirabu’s gasp must have alerted him to the fact that he was too.

They stayed like that, mere inches of their backs pressed together in the most suffocating silence they ever shared (which was saying a _lot_ considering how Ushijima was back in high school). Shirabu was about ready to give it up, maybe try to go right back to sleep, but Ushijima shifted, turning to face him like he knew he was awake. Shirabu refused to move, and after another beat of silence, Ushijima finally spoke.

“Do you remember when you asked me to live with you?”

How could he not? It took him five tries before Ushijima had said yes. Ushijima had always been a traditionalist, vehement about it being _not right_ if they lived together before marriage, and while Shirabu’s stomach had done a little flip at the word, he honestly found the concept ridiculous.

It took him a while. It took him time and patience and very long but logical argument on the practicalities of the matter before Ushijima finally said yes.

“Of course I remember.” Shirabu murmured. “Why?”

For a while it was just Ushijima breathing. Shirabu felt his gaze draw up and across his back, like he could find the answers in the loose threads of his sweater.

“I told you then that my schedule was…difficult to adapt to.” Ushijima said. “That I wasn’t exactly an ideal housemate, that I rarely ever cooked or cleaned because I was often too busy or too tired for it.” 

“I know.”

Ushijima had listed all these reasons before, and Shirabu had disputed every single one of them in said argument. Shirabu had said he didn’t mind it, was willing to deal with it and live with it, if it meant being with Ushijima.

(He’d learn quickly that waking up next to Ushijima every morning, cuddling up to him in bed, or sharing meals would be luxuries more than anything else. He’d learn that the only thing that really changed was his address, his home, and the fact that here, in this apartment, he just felt more detached from Ushijima than ever.)

Ushijima shifted uncharacteristically, the bed creaking and bouncing slightly in protest. “Truly, I appreciated your selflessness, but I believe this…arrangement…isn’t fair to you.”

It felt like being plunged into cold water, unpleasant and sudden. Shirabu’s heart leapt up in his throat, restricting his breathing, waking a burn behind his eyes. His hands clenched until the bones creaked, until his fingertips went numb.

“Even after moving in with you, I made no effort to change my lifestyle,” Ushijima continued, and Shirabu’s heart stopped, slowed, “but _you_ did. You did and I didn’t and that is not fair.”

His next breath was harsh and relieved, far too obvious in the silence, but Shirabu didn’t care. Fuck it, Ushijima really should learn to fucking phrase his words better.

“I’m sorry it took me this long to realize it. I suppose that is also another aspect of me that makes any relationship with me so difficult for my partner. Honestly, I’m surprised you even—”

“Can you cut it with the self-deprecation?” Shirabu hissed. “Not exactly the best route to go with here.”

“My apologies.” Ushijima replied, a little too quickly. More silence, but it’s thoughtful this time, like he was carefully considering his words.

“Then, can I at least promise to make it better?”

Shirabu stared at the blank expanse of the opposite wall. His thoughts were strangely light, strangely silent, now. Like it was already clear how he wanted this to end. He turned around, slowly, blinked at the sunlight filtering through the windows. Ushijima was looking up at him, cautious and just a little bit anxious. Afraid in a way Shirabu really hadn’t ever really seen before.

“You can start by giving me a good morning kiss, asshole.”

He might have expected a _but it’s no longer morning_ or _language, Shirabu_ but instead, what he got was a body crashing into his so fast it nearly sent them tumbling off the bed. Ushijima had always been careful, mindful of his mass when he pinned Shirabu down, but there was none of that delicacy now. Ushijima was kissing him like his every breath could be taken only from Shirabu’s mouth; kissing him the way he did everytime he had to leave, board a plane, a train; kissing him like he never wanted to let him go.

 _Yeah._ Shirabu thought. _We’ll be okay._


End file.
